Eyes: Rain
by mochiinvasions
Summary: The rain falls and she cries for the anger in those violet eyes. She would always wait for him. Fair amount of angst with some fluff at the end. The formatting is messed up, I know.


**Title:** Rain  
**Author: **AkaYuki2106  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters/Pairings:** Austria/Hungary  
**Summary:** The rain falls and she cries for the anger in those violet eyes. She would always wait for him.  
**Warnings: **Angst, mild kissing.  
**Soundtrack:** '1901' (sayCet remix) by Phoenix  
**Info: **Part 2 of 'Eyes'. Sorry I made it so angsty, it wasn't intentional. Just a note about the characterization- In my opinion Austria and Hungary wouldn't be the sort to argue often but when they do it would be brutal. I also tried to make it seem like it was the "last chance", like if it happened again Hungary wouldn't be able to take it. Anyway, please enjoy

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Hungary has never liked the rain. It brings back with it memories of pain and abandonment and kneeling defeated before her victors, and being forced to give up everything that is inherently her as she falls under another's control once again. It is comforting however to sit inside, warm drink in hand, watching the rain fall, and listening to the distant sounds of Austria playing his piano, attention always drawn from the windows to see his thin form sitting straight-backed and careful, long pianist's fingers gliding over the keys. Now however, the door is shut, and no sound escapes from it. Austria had argued with his boss earlier and now the door is closed tight, and even Hungary, the person closest to him, who has broken down every wall before, is shut out. She considers leaving, after all, she is doing nothing here and she does have her home to look after, but she can't. She knows that she must be here when the door finally opens, and Austria mutters his apologies for his 'unacceptable behavior', and she knows she must provide the forgiveness he seeks. She knows him, she knows what makes him angry, and she can see the slight tightening of the lip or the clenching of fist that shows this anger. She knows his anger, the slow bubbling that rises from deep within and flows until he breaks, and then, muttering curses under his breath storms through the house and slams the door to the music room shut. She has seen once the red hot rage that flies out of him in barbed words and angry glares and oh, she is glad she has never born the brunt of his anger. She knows his joy too. She knows the simple things that make him happy, the white flowers and low notes and the joy of creation. She has seen his smiles, and his glares and his swiftly-hidden tears, she has seen all of him, and there at the end she has been waiting, for when he smiles at her, when he asks for forgiveness and when he comes to her in the dead of night wishing for nothing more than arms to hold him and lips to say it's okay. She has been all that she could be, and he has given all he could back, for surely she must be just as hard to deal with. But it is times like this, times when he shuts himself off so tight not even she can reach him, that she wishes she didn't know him. For surely, if she didn't know him, if she didn't love him with all of her being, then she wouldn't hurt this much when he ignores her and the rest of the house for those few times when he indulges himself and allows the anger to take over him. He is so cold like this, so cold and so unreachable and so locked away. She hates this. She has been lost in her thoughts and in the rain falling in the darkness and she has not noticed the silence that permeates the house. Normally if she listens hard she can hear the faintest sound of piano, a note escaping every so often, but now there is complete silence. Even the rain seems to have dulled to a small background noise, and the silence is dim, oppressive, and she longs to break it. She opens her mouth but no sound comes out, the tenseness in the house seems to hold her tongue. She makes a small choking noise and berates herself for its likeness to a sob. The drink in her hands has gone cold now, and she briefly contemplates getting up to get a new one, when a sound from inside the music room stills her limbs. She holds her breath, but there is no more noise. She uncurls herself, her feet briefly touching the carpeted floor, but then the door bangs open. Her breath catches in her throat. She has never seen him like this. His body is stiff, tense, and she can see the briefest shaking in his hand which shows that he is holding in his anger. His lips are a thin line and his eyes, oh his _eyes_. They blaze in a way she has never seen before. The violet gems which seem to normally shine out of his face, that have dazzled her so many times before, that gaze at her profile as she does some housework, that drink in the notes from the music sheets as they flow down his fingers and through to the piano, that look with patience over the work he must do, that caress her in the dim light as he watches her and she watches him, each drinking in the moment and the perfect stillness. Those eyes are glaring at her now. The anger that had previously been directed at his boss is now focused purely on her. It is something she has loved and hated, the way he makes her feel as if she is the only person in the world. She looks back at him. Part of her is scared. Part of her is angry. Most of her is worried.

"I'm going out," he says. No arguments. She knows not to ask where.  
"When will you be back?" she asks.  
"Whenever I feel like it," he says. "And why may I ask, do you care so much about my movement?"  
She hates when he is like this. Their arguments are far and few between, but when they come they come with storms and tempests and two people who refuse to back down no matter who is in the wrong. She hates when he is like this because of what she becomes. Her voice, when she finds it a moment later is laced with poison and the anger that seeps out against her will.  
"Because," she hisses, "I'm making dinner for you this evening and I'm wondering if it's worth it, or whether I would be better off going home now."  
He looks at her as if she is nothing. She has been looked at as a servant, as a trusted friend, as an ally, as a lover, as a wife, but she has never been looked at like this.  
"Do as you wish," he says, coldly. The unspoken words hang in the air between them. _I don't care_. And he doesn't now. But he will later, and her words are just empty threats, because she knows, even if he doesn't, that she will always wait for him. He waits for her to speak. She has nothing to say. The silence hangs for a few moments. He turns, takes a coat, and leaves. There is a brief interruption of noise as the sound of the rain amplifies, and then it is back to the silence that coats the house in the feel of dread. She stands up to get a warm drink. She feels out of place, uncomfortable. This has never happened before. This is Austria's house, her one time husband and long time lover's. She has lived so long here that it feels as comfortable as her own. And yet, as she trails her fingers over plastic surfaces, as her hands curl around the handle of the mug, as she pours out a new drink, careful not to spill a drop, she feels as out of place as if it were a stranger's. She leans back on the counter, looking out, watching the half faded memories as they dance in her mind, flickering in and out in the soft light. A sob catches in her throat. A tear tracks down her face. She wipes it away with her free hand, but the damage is done. The mug is set down as she slides down, back against the cupboard, her body curling into a fetal position as hands embrace face, trying to catch the tears before they can sully the perfect memories. One day she will break, and one day she will scream back at him. He will not be taken aback, he will merely shout back, and the door will slam not from his exit but hers. And she shies away from the thought but it is always there, that when she leaves that time it will be the last. She leans back, listening to the rain. A tear falls down every so often, but the flood is over. She closes her eyes and imagines Austria sitting beside her, arm around her, asking if she is okay. She imagines leaning into him and asking him to stay. She imagines him saying he will stay forever. She imagines she can believe him. She is woken from her reverie by the feel of the knob of the cupboard in her back. Her eyes flash open, and she imagines that he is in front of her, asking if she is upset or if she is feeling sick. She imagines curling into him and crying all her tears out. She imagines his hand on her back and him saying he loves her again and again. She imagines repeating the mantra and oh how true it is for her, how she loves him with all of her being. She stands up. Enough. She has had her moment of weakness. She has cried. She has admitted to herself her fears. Now it is time to face them. Normally she waits for him to return to her. Today she will chase him. Today she will tell him the truth: that she will always wait for him, that she will always be will tell him how much it hurts when he leaves her like that. Maybe he'll push her away, think that she's weak, think she expects too much of him. Maybe he'll hold her tight and promise never again. Either way, the words will be spoken. She can barely think, and yet her mind is perfectly clear. First is a message, replied to almost immediately. Then is a coat, and shoes, and the umbrella. And then…the phone rings. She stares at it. She doesn't want to answer but she must. Her hand trembles over the receiver before she sees the number. It is his boss. She has to answer. She picks it up with shaking hands and a shaking voice.

"Hello?"  
"Ah, Miss Hungary. Is Austria in?"  
"N-no, I'm afraid not. "  
"Ah…Do you think you could pass on a message?"  
"I can try. I'm on my way out to get him now."  
"Okay, then I can wait. Do tell him I called."  
"I will. Are you sure there's nothing to pass on?"  
"Just…-no. It would be better if I said it to him."  
"Okay. Goodbye."  
"Goodbye." Thank goodness for government bodies and their busy schedules.  
She looks across the room. This could be her last visit. Should she go to every room, touch every surface? No. That is weak, and she will not admit defeat just yet. She exits into the rain, making sure to lock the door, and then looks out. She has no idea where he is.  
"Roderich…" she whispers. "Where the hell are you?"  
As if by divine intervention, her phone rings before tears can join the raindrops rolling down her face. She answers it, but before she can say a word the voice on the other side speaks out. The voice is broken, the voice of one who has gone one too far one too many times.  
"Eliza…beta…please help me."  
"Where are you," she whispers.  
"I don't know…I'm lost and…please…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I-"  
She cuts him off. "Find a roadsign. I'll find you."

He does, and they cut off contact. She looks at the rain. She knows the road, knows the very payphone he is standing in. She has walked down that road a million times before and she would have laughed at the fact that he still got lost in the roads that wound their way through his heart, but that is just another thing that makes him _him_. Just another thing that makes up the being called Austria. She blinks away the fresh tears before they can fall down, and opening the umbrella, starts walking. She doesn't need to think, having walked this way with him at her side, ran this way with his goodbye kiss still lingering on her lips, seen these pavements and crossed these roads and looked in these shops so often. Her feet move without her thinking and it is only the outflung arm of a stranger that keeps her from falling into the swift moving traffic. He opens his mouth as if to speak to her, but one look into her eyes, the bright emerald dulled by the pain, and he turns. Her heart beats faster than she could imagine possible, and she resolves to be more careful. She cannot die, at least not by being hit by a car, but if she is hurt she will never reach Austria and that would hurt more than the worst injury. She finally makes it to the road he is on, unhurt. She stops. There, across the street, he sits on a bench, head down, soaked to the skin. The rain has flattened his hair, and makes his clothes cling to his lithe form. "Roderich…" she whispers. As if he can hear her, he looks up. The rain slides down his glasses, and the expression in the amethyst eyes behind them is unreadable. She steps out onto the road. A car speeds past in front of her, and she can see that he has realised what she will do and he shakes his head but she ignores it. She has his attention, and she will not move. Not now. Another step. Another car. She takes a deep breath. And in between the moment where one car vanishes from sight and the next appears, she runs across the road. When she steps onto the pavement and the safety it brings he rushes to her, holding her arms in a tight grip as the remonstrations bubble in his throat. She pushes him back to the bench, and before one word can pass his lips she joins hers to his. He is still, and she can feel the tears prickling behind her eyes, and as she closes her eyes she can feel them slide down. His lips are soft on hers and warm despite the freezing rain, and she can feel his hands release their grip on her arms and move to embrace her, holding her close, taking her heat and giving his back. They break apart and Hungary whispers "I'll always wait for you. Always. I love you so much I…I can't…don't…leave…Please…not like that...I was…it hurt…so much t-to think that you…that you saw me like that…don't…please don't…"  
She waits for him to push her away, but to her surprise he leans his head into her neck, and whispers against her skin, "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…I was stupid…I didn't mean to hurt you…I love you Elizabeta. I love you with all I am and I hurt you so much and I…how could I…I'm sorry, I'm so-"

She shushes him gently, and whispers, "Don't…ever leave me…Never like that…" Her voice breaks half way through, and she is sobbing, and he is crying too, she can feel the tears delicate against her skin, and when he lifts his head, his eyes are filled. Not with anger, not with pain, but with love, a love so delicate and simple it fills her heart. And when he speaks, the words are gentle against her lips.

_I will never leave you…My love. _

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Listen to the song if you get a chance. It's beautiful and really influenced the tone of the story. Thanks Dem for beta-ing this for me, as always X3 If you have any questions, comments or critiques please feel free to leave a review!

EDIT: Finally got round to fixing the formatting OTL


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